


Return of the Sprinkles

by SnarkyLlama



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Cookies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyLlama/pseuds/SnarkyLlama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new hero claims the mantle of Cookie Man and calls his sidekick, Sprinkles, back into action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return of the Sprinkles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brandywine28](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=brandywine28).



_Help me, JC-wan, you're my only hope._

_Help me, JC-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope._

_Help me, I know you're in Orlando._

_Help me, JC-Wan, you're my only hope._

_Help me, JC-wan._

_Come on, Sprinkles, I know where you live._

_Help me, JC-Wan Kenobi._

_Help me, JC-wan, cuz I can keep this up for DAYS._

*

The sad thing was that JC's nap had only been about an hour and a half. That was like... a text every ten minutes. JC shook his head as he cleared the messages from his phone. Chris definitely needed help, professional help, the kind that involved couches and paying by the hour.

JC rubbed his eyes, then stretched and considered his options. It was December 20th. He had a few more days to hide from the world in Grinch-like splendor before heading for a quiet Christmas with his family. Or he could see what Chris wanted, and maybe put him out of his misery. He was strongly tempted to ignore Chris. This had been a hard year, and JC just wanted it to be over, but... Well, he really couldn't ignore the Sprinkles, now could he?

Still in a _Star Wars_ frame of mind, JC hauled himself out of bed, thinking about an elegant weapon for a more civilized age. Chris was like that: a ridiculous weapon for a sillier--happier--age.

*

"Oh, thank God," Chris said, sounding just a bit out of breath as he answered the phone. "You are going to save me and just in time, too. I was getting worried."

"I'm not promising anything," JC told him. He poured coffee from that morning's pot into a mug and stuck it in the microwave. "I'm totally reserving the right to be Scrooge this year."

"Bah! You make a lousy Scrooge."

"You don't read the right blogs. I've already got miserly down tight."

"Ha! I know you better than that, and you'd better come up with another excuse fast, 'cause--"

JC's doorbell rang. This was a gated community; his doorbell never rang.

He poked his head out of the kitchen and looked down the hall towards the front door. The he listened for a moment to the silence on his phone. Chris had stopped talking. There was really only one reason for Chris to have stopped.

He headed down the hall. "What were you going to do if I wasn't home?" he asked.

"You mean after I fired my spy network? I don't know... probably set up camp here and see how much of a nuisance I could make of myself."

JC snorted in laughter as he worked the locks open one-handed. "Sounds like an average day in the Kirkpatrick life, what's the emergen--?"

He got the door open and Chris was standing there with his arms full of grocery bags. Chris smiled wide.

"Mr. Ebenezer, sir? Got a delivery here from Tiny Tim's. Can you sign for it?"

*

The way Chris spread out the groceries as he unpacked made it seem like he'd brought ten bags instead of just three. JC wrapped both hands around his freshly nuked coffee and watched the pending disaster from a safe distance. Bags of flour and sugar, both white and brown. Two dozen eggs. At least a half dozen bags of Nestle chocolate chips. Butter and milk, and then a wide variety of bottles: cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla extract, Kahlua, Bailey's Irish Cream, Hennessey, Jack Daniels--JC stopped wondering why Chris needed _his_ kitchen for this and started wondering...

"What the hell kind of cookies are you making?"

"We're making chocolate chip, Sprinks. Think you can handle that?"

"The last time I checked, chocolate chip cookies weren't supposed to be ninety proof."

Chris opened the Bailey's and stalked over to JC's small island of sanity on the far side of the kitchen.

"The drinks are for the cooks, C. Not the cookies. Come on, it'll be fun. You know you want to help me. You can't resist being my only hope."

JC held out his mug and let Chris doctor his coffee. Then he took a sip, secretly enjoying Chris's closeness as he stood there, in his personal space, waiting expectantly.

"Mmm." JC licked his lips in appreciation. "Okay. I suppose if I'm your only hope... Why are chocolate chip cookies a matter of life and death?"

Chris leaned close, putting a hand on JC's chest and batting his lashes. "Because you can't resist a damsel in distress."

"I can't believe you're admitting to being a damsel."

"Hey, hey," Chris laughed and twirled away from him. "No one said I was the damsel! We're making cookies for my mom, okay?"

*

Beverly had told Chris that enough was enough. He wasn't to give her any extravagant gifts this year.

"So... you're giving her diamonds for New Year's?"

"Of course not!"

"Hmm..." JC said. He unwrapped two sticks of butter and dropped them into his largest bowl before looking over at Chris again. "So, it's a car on New Year's Day."

"A car," Chris scoffed. "Wrong, wrong, totally wrong. Hand me that fork, will ya?"

JC kept the fork for himself and started breaking the butter into smaller pieces with it. "A truck then. Or a minivan."

"Geez, Sprinks, when did you get so smart? I know it's not that I'm predictable 'cause I'm not. I'm as spontaneous and unpredictable as a... as a really unpredictable thing."

"Don't worry. You'll always be that butterfly, even if you're totally--"

"A butterfly? Is that a height joke or--I'm not a freaking butterfly!"

"That Chaos Theory butterfly. You know, the one that flaps its wings and causes a tsunami on the other side of the world."

"Oh. Cool. I'm fine with that." Chris lifted his glass in a toast. "Here's to kickass butterflies!"

JC reached for his mug. "Cheers." He finished his spiked coffee and then smiled. "You're totally predictable when it comes to the people you love, though."

"Ha!" Chris said, and then several things happened all at once. A butterfly flapped its metaphorical wings in Orlando and suddenly JC's hand was planted firmly in a smush of butter and he was being thoroughly kissed.

*

"Bet you didn't see that coming," Chris said after a long while.

"No," JC said and laughed shakily. "No, I didn't quite--"

"Mmm, you've got butter on your fingers." Chris licked JC's index finger before sucking on it.

"This is so unsanitary," JC muttered, without moving from his half-sprawl across the kitchen table. "I was creaming the butter... for your mother's cookies..."

"And I made you cream something else." Chris grinned. "Go me."

"We cannot send these cookies to your mother. Your sisters might eat them."

"Screw the cookies--"

"No, no," JC laughed. "That would make it worse. Much, much worse."

"The cookies can wait till tomorrow. Now, come on, Sprinkles. Gimme some sugar."

*

Later that night, JC asked, "Are we really sending cookies to your mother or was that just an excuse to make a pass at me?"

"What?" Chris mumbled sleepily and tugged the blankets up higher around them both. "Can't I multi-task?"

Maybe, JC thought, maybe the past year hadn't been _all_ bad... at least not as long as he had his very own cookie-baking nut to put him out of his misery.


End file.
